Chronically Healing Through Writing

Thoughts of the end -so through a pen I share rawfully honest thoughts. Thoughts about my relationship with chronic pain. Thoughts about the fantasies of romantic love , and the agony when this illusion disappears. The goal is to learn from my own journey through words.


Does love really grow?

Or does it wither away?

Like the flower you blow back into the earth. Seeing it lightly explode before your eyes.

Like the firefly you chase after 

Like the moon that hides behind the clouds. 

All beautiful things. 

Your presence sometimes distant, but still remains 

Green grass in the winter

Snow in the spring

Love could be a seasonal thing.

Yet, I still hope for that feeling…

That feeling I get when he says he has to go.

When I really just want him to stay forever

So we can exist in that moment we  had together 

Then years go by…

We have either changed, or we are no longer together 

We really moved along just like the weather.

I’m waiting for my Indian summer to return.  



I’m not sure I know what romantic love is. I mean what it? How do you behave? How do you just exist with one another? Are we really moving in unison; or are we mimicking what we see on television?

The love I witnessed never looked like the shows on tv. It was disfunction. It was pain. It was sadness.  It was sacrifice. Some laughter. The root was love. I just never witnessed the romance.


You painted a picture, and for the first time I saw myself in it…Until the gallery closed. 


This mourning period does not occur after every relationship. It happens when you thought your search was over.

Watch “SZA – Drew Barrymore (Official Video)” on YouTube

Father’s day 

A year ago today…weeks prior, I made advances towards a man who was not interested in me. For a brief second I read a text message… I read it in a spirit of hope, more like delusion. I mean…I saw it so clearly. So I carried on for weeks. Ignoring things. Seeing more words in his one word replies…more than one sentence to my paragraphs. I saw substance in nothing. So today, last year, I persuaded him to come to my home. In my fantasy, he was dying to see me, and this was his idea. To make a long story short I slept with him. I couldn’t even see straight. It was…gasp… indescribable. I didn’t know how much I missed that level of intimacy. Once it was over… it was really over. My chest grows tighter thinking about it. I have not seen him since. To give your body away on Father’s day. To feel so empty. Like a fatherless child that no one wants. Sister I beg you not to make that mistake again


I light my bowl with incense. I turn on the stove, burn the incense, and light up. Not for anything supernatural ; I just don’t play with matches. The message  I took from my parents.  Why? Well when I decided to play with fire I was burned instantly.  So I learned my lesson early on.

I didn’t listen to every piece of advice though. They also told me “not to talk to boys” 

“Don’t let them touch you”



I remember smiling so hard outside of a bedroom. I mean… enjoying his company throughout every inch of the earth. Happy… Just happy to have conversation outside of pillow talk. Less bull shit. The environment of lust did not cloud our thoughts. We wholeheartedly enjoyed one another. Listening, laughing, gazing, and just being ourselves. I miss that.


​My past won’t allow me to be in a relationship where I’m uncomfortable with vulnerability. I’m tired of protecting myself. I want to love freely, and simply be myself. Let me out. Let me be free.